


your name? written in these stars

by kkeithkatt



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Comfort No Hurt, Fluff, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Half-Galra Keith (Voltron), I support him, Keith loves you baby, M/M, Nonbinary Keith (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Poor stupid boy, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, They/Them Pronouns for Keith (Voltron), This is so soft I cry, White-Haired Keith (Voltron), its not the point of this fic but its there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 08:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30069306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkeithkatt/pseuds/kkeithkatt
Summary: For so long, Shiro’s skin had remained unmarked. It’s not too uncommon, not everyone gets their soul writings early on, but for most, it starts in mid-childhood. Shiro’s writings hadn’t started back then, thirteen and fourteen passed by him with a smooth swiftness of test tubes, crinkling wax paper, and the heavy, cloy scent of lemons.And yet, there, on the bare cap of his knee, is the purple mark of words.Years away, Keith is confused why the Black Paladin of Voltron seems to be obsessed with his handwriting.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 136





	your name? written in these stars

Their meeting with the Blade of Marmora could have gone better. But it also could have gone a lot worse.

Shiro is intimately aware of this, as he walks alongside Kolivan and Antok, and he’s grateful, if a bit ashamed for it, that Allura hadn’t been the one to accompany him. Pidge’s excited chatter, spouting question after question to a silent Antok, fills the deserted halls of the base. He doesn’t know if Antok will answer her, as Shiro hasn’t heard the man speak once since they arrived, but the way his shoulder is just slightly turned lets him know the Blade is, at the very least, listening.

Pidge may be a bit much, especially for their (hopefully) new allies who are like carved, immovable stone, but anyone else would have been disastrous. Allura would have made the very unstable, already tense situation even more so with her barely veiled insults and too sharp glares. Hunk would have been so outwardly nervous and awkward that Shiro would have had to reassure him in front of the Blade, who would have seen the weakness for what it was. Lance, admittedly, would have been his next best option, but like Allura and Hunk, his anxiety would have been apparent, though more in the form of insults than anything. Pidge’s curiosity is overwhelming but at least she’s genuine and that’s more than obvious.

“You should ask these to Thace,” a deep voice suddenly cuts through Pidge’s ramblings and as a pair, Shiro and Pidge’s steps falter before quickly resuming with Kolivan’s firm cadence. “He would know much more about this than I.”

“Thace was our expert of technology.” Kolivan adds on, as if they haven’t been intensely silent the whole walk from the grand hall. Shiro shoots a quick glance to Pidge, whose brows are furrowed. “He is currently in deep undercover, however.”  
  
“Oh.” She looks down, the frown on her face pouty, the disappointment clear in her tone. Kolivan makes a sound akin to a hum, though it’s more rattly than the common human sound.

“I shall introduce you to Regris.” He tells her, voice oddly comforting and Pidge straightens, perking up with a blossoming grin, eager. “He will know how to answer most of your questions best.”

Pidge shoves her way forward, nearly jostling Shiro in her eagerness, and he sets a hand on her shoulder to still her, wrangling her back to his side, into a calmer speed.

“Who’s Regris?”

It’s Antok that answers her. “One of our younger members. Thace trained him personally, before his mission intercepted his time too much.”

“Antok can introduce you while the Black Paladin and I discuss in alliance?” Kolivan says, looking briefly towards Shiro, his face mask blank and unblinking. It’s a bit unsettling, if he’s honest, but a glance to Pidge, who is already directing her pleading, wide eyes at him, makes the decision for him.

He tries not to appear too hesitant when he answers. Ulaz was a Blade and they had no reason to distrust him. Kolivan and Antok and this Regris should be the same. “That’s fine with me.”  
  
Pidge cheers, thrusting a fist into the air, before remembering herself and turning sharply on her heel to face Antok, who had shifted to be bringing up the rear. She straightens, cooling her face into something more professional. It fools no one but with a nod, Antok steps off and together, they break apart from Shiro and Kolivan, walking back and down a different hall.

Shiro turns back to Kolivan when they disappear from his sight.

“Lead the way,” He starts to say but the galran is already walking off and so he hastens to follow.

* * *

They’re in the middle of discussing potential joint missions when they’re interrupted.

The door suddenly opens with a loud swishing sound, drawing both of their eyes, and in steps the tiniest galra Shiro’s ever seen. In fact, the Blade suit they’re wearing, mask and hood up and all, is the only tell that they’re galra at all.

They step up towards the table, fiddling with a datapad and not even looking up from it, and when they’re close enough, Shiro notes the marmoran likely wouldn’t even reach past his own shoulder. Short, for a galra, definitely.

There’s a sticky note on the back of their datapad, shockingly yellow with neat characters on it. The galran letters in that hand are oddly familiar to him.

“Leader.” They greet, voice deceptively deep and rough. Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro watches as Kolivan lifts a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

“Keith.” The man greets and Shiro almost twitches in surprise. That is a very… un-galra sounding name. “Shouldn’t you be on the training decks?”  
  
The Blade, Keith apparently, waves a gloved hand dismissively. “Antok stole Regris and no one else wanted to fight.”

Shiro almost wants to chuckle, the whole situation oddly absurd somehow, but refrains.

Kolivan sighs deeply for the both of them. It’s a long, self suffering sound, and it just makes Shiro want to laugh even more.

“We have bots, kit.” Kolivan doesn’t argue. If Shiro could see their face, he thinks the other galra would be rolling their eyes with how heavy they bear into Kolivan’s freed face.

“Leader.” They deadpan. “The training bot sucks.”

Shiro does laugh at this, a startled, surprising sound that draws both of the occupants' attention to him. He waves a hand in apology.

“Sorry,” He laughs again, quieter. “It’s just-” He cuts a look over towards Keith “we have a training bot too. And it kinda… sucks too.”

Keith visibly perks up at that, shooting Kolivan a look that is clearly superior in the way it practically screams “See? I told you so!”.

“Their fighting styles are very predictable.” The shorter Blade says conversationally, apparently not at all bothered to talk to him, a complete stranger. “It’s not much of a challenge.”  
  
Shiro nods in agreement. “The Altean bot has some variation and it adjusts itself by the level of course but when you fight it enough? Yeah no. It’s pretty mundane.”

“Shiro.” Kolivan interrupts, drawing his attention back. “As you can see, my kit demands my attention. Shall we reconvene on the altean castleship, in a vargas time?”

_An hour_ , his mind automatically corrects, the universal time up here still strange to him. He has no idea how long he and Pidge have been here, within the cold lines of the Blade of Marmora’s main base, but Kolivan’s words make him think it’s longer than he thought.

The others are probably worried. He nods.

“I’m sure Princess Allura will appreciate the time for me to brief them.” He says carefully. It’s an understatement and Kolivan seems to hear it for what it is. Keith does too, if the way they stiffen is any indication.

“I will escort you back to your lion then.” Kolivan says instead of anything else. Shiro’s grateful for it. He’s going to need all the patience he has for Allura. “Keith.”  
  
Keith turns to Kolivan.

“I will meet you on the deck.”  
  
The dismissal is clear and with a look towards Shiro, the Blade presses a hand to their breastbone and nods once before walking out.

As Kolivan quickly sets to bringing Shiro back to Pidge and the Green Lion, Shiro can’t help but inwardly smile.

He wouldn’t have thought Kolivan to be a father.

* * *

The writing had started when he was fifteen.

Shiro had been going in and out of hospitals at that time, his conditioning both worsening and getting more manageable. There had been a lot of trial runs, with new medications and monitored exercises and x-rays after x-ray. The amount of blood work he had given alone made him tired.

His body, at that time, had felt foreign and so familiar. He was used to looking at it, to other people looking at it, that he barely even flinched when the needles went in, when they tightened the straps of the cuff above his elbow. He could count every needle point, every new bruise, every freckle and tiny surgical scar, could follow every vein with his finger if asked. His body was a lot easier for him to remember than most people.

But he still missed that first blossom of ink.

He had been at the doctor when it came. Shiro had sat smack dab in the middle of the bed, barely paying attention as Dr. Sun went through the motions of checking his reflexes. It was always the same boring steps and while his grandfather sat in the corner, paying attention with just as distant grey eyes, the silence was warm and comforting. Just as familiar.

“Well,” Dr. Sun had started pulling her stethoscope back, smiling pretty in that way all women seem to know how to do naturally. “Looks like we have a new visitor.”  
  
“Huh?” Shiro had uttered ineloquentlyn and she had laughed at him, pointing down at the bare cap of his knee.

There, in neat, oddly angular letters, was the purple mark of words. Or rather, numbers.

_19\. 53. 7. -22. 14. 27._

“Math homework maybe?” His doctor smiles, voice light and happy, but he can’t respond, still staring down dumbly at the numbers.

For so long, Shiro’s skin had remained unmarked. It’s not too uncommon, not everyone gets their soul writings early on, but for most, it starts in mid-childhood. Middle school is an exciting time for everyone and his own had been full of friends shouting in the middle of class because their soulmate had finally appeared. Little doodles on the back of hands, reminders inked below the cuff of their sleeve.

Shiro’s writings hadn’t started back then, thirteen and fourteen passed by him with a smooth swiftness of test tubes, crinkling wax paper, and the heavy, cloy scent of lemons.

He remembers the other outliers, the ones who received them _before_ and _after_ middle school. Everyone always noticed those because, even if the statistics said otherwise, it was considered _strange_. Those who met early, like Anna Wortsmith in his third grade class, had poetic stories about them. To find your soulmate so young, to have their words and thoughts printed across your skin with such an absolute surety, was special. The fates had found your match early and you were destined for a long, true love. And Anna, who had gotten a messy scrawl of pink, glittery letters all across her forearm, had certainly felt so. She had found them not long after too, helped by the fact her soulmate was just learning how to write her name.

But the ones who got their writings later didn’t share in that sugary sweetness. Many were of the opinion that if you took even longer to be matched, it’s because you were difficult. Something about you made it hard to be paired and the fates had to look everywhere to find possibilities. The later you had the writings, the worst people looked at you. At 14, Shiro had already been too obviously different with his sickly pale skin and the braces on his arm. It hadn’t been a surprise to him really, when his 15th birthday came and he still held no words.

Privately, Shiro had entertained the thought that he didn’t have a soulmate, would never receive the soulwriting, because he would die too young for a connection to even be processed, much less felt.

And yet, here the ink was, like a flashy little brand on his knee. Shiro could swear it had the curve a smirk to it. As if fate was mocking his ignorance, his doubt.

_As if I could ever forget you,_ it was saying, and Shiro’s hands fisted into the exam table, paper crinkling noisily.

Shiro does the math in his head. There is no pattern to it, not one he can think of, and the numbers make no sense to him. He stares down at the ink and then looks away.

The appointment continues and before long, Shiro’s grandfather is leading him out the room, promises of test results and new appointments being quickly discussed between the adults as he wraps a hand over his cold wrist.

They’re trying a new medication and he hopes, stupidly, that things will be different soon. Better.

A hand settles down hard on his shoulder and Shiro flinches, looking up with wide eyes into the calm, understanding ones of grandfather. He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t need to. Shiro already knows.

  
  


* * *

Later, when he’s back home and the candles have long been blown out, incense still clinging to the air around him, he sits at his desk with a lone light on. It casts shadows onto the walls before him, warped and hazy and unfamiliar in their shape but carrying the same face as always. The poster of the stars looks down at him and he tracks his gaze over the curved line of the Kuiper Belt, wondering. The waxy blue background matches the ink still pressed into his knee.

They haven’t wiped it away yet and Shiro wonders if the numbers are important or if they just forgot.

He grabs a pen, simple and black, and carefully drags it over his palm. His hands shake but the letters are clear, written more perfectly than he usually cares to. A first impression, as they say, is important and long lasting. He doesn’t want his soulmate to think him a slob.

_Hi._

He waits, staring down at his open palm, feels the gentle heat of the lightbulb against it. He breathes in the scent of oranges, can hear the quiet ticking of the hallway clock, and exhales.

His soulmate doesn’t write back. Perhaps he is asleep.

* * *

  
  


(His soulmate never writes back. All of Shiro’s writings are never returned and the ink of his soulmate's own writing continues to bleed across his skin.)

* * *

They work with Blade over the next several days, weeks, whatever, to plan out how to attack Zarkon and his Empire at its heart.

It is both a slow going and too fast process. They have a lot of work to do and Kolivan has a sharp mind for all of it, having thought it out much longer than they themselves have been able to. A lot needs done but he seems to know what he’s doing, has a plan and positions set for it long before he even boards the Castle of Lions. It should be simple, easy to execute in words if nothing else, but Allura is a stubborn, immovable force.

Shiro tries not to be annoyed with her. He understands, in that harsh way about them, and he knows Kolivan does too, in the way he never rises at her obvious bait, but it makes things harder than they need to be.

So while Allura and Kolivan duke it out on the command deck and in the boardroom Shiro didn’t know they had, he occupies other places, as do the others.

Coran, Antok, and Hunk take over the kitchen, where Hunk bakes an endless supply of oddly colored sweets while Coran spouts off a mile a minute like he always does. Antok doesn’t add a word to the conversation, which makes Hunk bake faster and Coran to ramble on longer. Shiro isn’t quite sure what those three are even working on, if anything at all, but he leaves them to it after checking on the yellow paladin.

Pidge had dragged a still-masked Regris into her workshop. Like Coran, she talks fast and quick, but unlike Antok, Regris is just as happy to return her mutterings. His voice is raspy and thin and sounds like a whip in dry air but he’s clever, really clever, and easily keeps up with the excitable girl. They shove each other as they walk, accidentally walking over each other’s feet and into their shoulders, but neither minds. Shiro feels like he’s watching a pile of happy puppies when he looks at them, too busy on their cheer to be careful, yipping away as they do.

Lance had followed an unnamed Blade back to the hangar, where they went over the galran ship and talked about supplies. It’s not a job Shiro would have given him, as Lance tends to like things fast and cool, but he surprisingly handles it well. Shiro has a whole spreadsheet sent to him on the first day, categorizing some of their missions, and it’s just as neat as the intel Hunk usually sends his way. Lance then starts sending him reports on weapons, random intel teams, team structures, some training sequences, and all sorts of random notes so Shiro is content to leave him with it.

Shiro’s own feet carry him to the training room but it feels wrong to fight against the bot, when everyone else is working, so after a quick detour to his room to grab his datapad, he heads to the lounge area. Perhaps he can make some headway on Pidge and Lance’s reports. He’ll need it to filter out the useless details of Lance’s margins and the too technical words of Pidge’s. Perhaps he should have Hunk subtly try to help them word things a bit clearer. His reports are always simple enough and clean.

When he gets to the lounge though, he quickly realizes he isn’t going to be as alone as he thought, because sitting on the far edge of the sofa is a familiar mask.

“Keith!” He greets, perhaps a bit too loudly and happily. The Blade looks up, apparently not at all phased to see him, and waves a hand lazily.

“Black Paladin.” They greet, the mask distorting their voice still. There’s an edge of artificialness to it that all the masks seem to carry but under that is the familiar whisky burn sound he’s managed to grow fond of. “How can I assist you?”

Shiro grins and rolls his shoulder back, taking a seat down a few feet away from the little galran. “Just came here to work.” He waves a hand at the table between them. “Speaking of... What are you working on?”

In front of Keith, on the too smooth altean table, many papers have been spread out. Bright sticky notes cover some of them, bold sharpie scratched on others. A black, sleek datapad rests near Keith’s knee, pressed into the table’s edge as it is, the screen on and bright but a stark contrast to the white and blue colors of the room.

It’s nice to see actual paper again though. There’s a library on the castleship, built and collected by King Alfor himself, but even there books are a rarity. Most of it are cases holding recordings and videos, large flash drives Earth has nothing like. Almost everything he could need is accessible on his datapad and he knows most of space shares this technology based mindset. But here Keith is, with actual paper and handwritten notes.

Keith must read the question on Shiro’s face because they tap the stack of papers closest to them.

“I find it easier to see my work like this. Regris and Thace think me strange for it but Ulaz worked similarly. My thoughts can be a bit,” Shiro can see the way their eyes roam over the table, flat and unblinking in that mask “scattered.”

_Worked_. The word is casually placed in there, like Keith is used to it, but it feels like a punch to Shiro. Guilt continues to gnaw at him for Voltron’s failures. He wants to apologize, knows Ulaz had died to save him, had died and left the Blade and Keith to deal with that, but it feels just as wrong to offer it. So he doesn’t.

Shiro taps a sheet of paper, where simple black ink has been written in straight lines. It looks familiar, in that same way Keith’s voice does. Like Ulaz himself had. But like both, he can’t place it and now isn’t the time for it anyway.

“And this is…?”

Keith huffs and taps on their datapad, the press of their fingers against glass loud in the room. “My mission has been growing for some time now. I’ve been tracking the druids and the quintessence routes, monitoring them and their dealings. I’ve hit a block recently, however, and need to find a work around before I lose the intel entirely.”

“The druids?” Shiro repeats, sitting forward. They’ve had brief run-ins with the magical beings, mostly through Haggar, Zarkon’s witch, but Shiro knows exactly how dangerous they are. Pidge, Lance, and Hunk may not have been able to follow the druid all those months ago, that day Allura was captured, but the near miss of it still gives him anxiety. The thought of Keith dealing with them, personally, is unnerving.

“Is it… wise to be tracking them?”  
  
Keith looks up and even though Shiro can’t see their face, he feels the burn of their gaze. It’s sharp and commanding, firm.

“The druids are a risky operation. Much is unknown about them but we do know what they’re doing is killing thousands. Stopping them is paramount to defeating the Empire.” Keith’s tone softens a little and they look back down at their work. “The Blade knows the risk.” _I know the risk._

Shiro swallows hard and nods, even though Keith isn’t looking and won’t see it. “Have you found anything?”

Keith leans over the table, their gaze locked back onto their datapad, and pushes some papers towards him.

“They’ve been dealing with raw quintessence a lot lately.” Keith tells him, distracted, “Usually, they corrupt it, diluting the energy to use it more freely,” Shiro shifts the papers around, finding what are clearly some trade routes.

“It’s being distributed to the Empire?” He raises a brow, looking back up.

Keith hums. “No. It is being delivered, usually to druids stationed throughout Zarkon’s forces, but where it’s going and what’s being done with it is still unknown. As is it’s source.”

“Aren’t they still siphoning off planets?” Shiro asks him, confused. He doesn’t quite understand the science behind quintessence, as it seems very magical indeed. Shiro does know that few people can actually interact with the raw material of it though and that the potential such energy has is extremely problematic.

“They are.” Keith confirms. They look over the edge of their datapad, glowing eyes staring straight at him. “But this energy isn’t.”

“A new source.” Shiro realizes and isn’t that thought nauseating? Keith nods.

“One of our spies informed us of a possible new shipment. I’ll be leading a team soon to check it out.”

Shiro sits up, leaning over the table and frowning. “Possible? That’s a very grey area, Keith. What if nothing is there?”

Keith just shrugs at him. “Without a lead on the trading routes, it’s my only real option to find out more. We have to take it.”

Voltron would never go. There’s too much unknown, starting with the spy themselves, but Shiro has been repeatedly hit with the realization that the Blade works vastly differently. Safety and planning can only get them so far and he knows that the intel, the knowledge they’re after, more than outweighs the risk for them. For Keith.

“Good luck then.” Shiro says lamely, for lack of anything better to say. He wants to tell Keith it’s too dangerous, that he doesn’t know enough of what he’s going into, but he knows already Keith won’t listen. Their shoulders are set in a heavy, stern line. Besides, Keith is undoubtedly the expert here. Shiro has to trust him and the Blade, their new allies, to know what they’re doing.

Keith’s mask twitches into what could maybe have been by a smile. “Thank you Shiro.”

He likes the way his name sounds on Keith’s tongue.

* * *

  
  


On the side of his right arm, there is black ink.

_S/2011 134340_

He had been surprised, after. Shiro hadn’t expected to see any soulwritings on his right arm after the druids had replaced it with their own technology, grey and glowing purples and cold in a way no human limb is. But as he sat in that tiny prison cell, his feet bare and frozen against the metal floor, he had seen the way ink etched it’s way around his elbow. There was so much time outside of the arena, free for thinking and seeing and listening. Outside of the packed cells of the other prisoners, a “reward” for being Champion being a single cell, he had even more free time. He spent a lot of tracking the soldiers steps and thinking back to before. Before they took Matt and Sam, before the Arena spilt his blood and face open, before his arm.

And like the first time, the ink came as if summoned.

_Terran_ . The words had been messier than usual. Fast and rushed. _Earth_.

Shiro had nearly split his cut open with how quickly he had sat up.

He knows it’s abnormal to still have writings there, knows that on Earth, prosthetics don’t carry the transfer over. Allura and Coran had theorized that the galran arm channeled his quintessence enough and in a way that allowed the soulmate connection to flow through it as normal. It makes him feel sad and guilty but happy more than either of those.

It’s a reminder.

Now, he runs his left hand over the numbers. He recognizes them this time, knows now what he hadn’t. His soulmate has a fondness for coordinates, for space. Up here, with Voltron and the Blades and the building Coalition, he wonders if he’ll find them among the stars too.

It would be more than fitting, he thinks, still tracing over the black ink. It doesn’t smear, never does, and won’t fade until his soulmate allows them to.

  
Funny. His soulmate would be made of stars, wouldn’t they? They had been his first love. It’s only natural they’d be his last too.

* * *

  
  


He almost dies.

Shiro wakes slowly. The first thing his tired mind registers is white. The room and space he’s in is so bright, so pure, that for a moment, he thinks he’s in heaven. He’s never been a religious man but this seems like decent enough proof.

And then he smells something chemical, decidedly not of earth, and arms are wrapping around him to catch him.

“W-Where-?” Hands brace his shoulder, an arm curling around his waist, another set of hands press along his back.

“You’re in the medbay.” Lance. He turns his head and the boy is on his right, face oddly serious and calm. “You’ve been in a pod for the past few days.”

Pidge tsks. “It’s been like a week Shiro!” Her elbow digs into his side but not in a way that hurts. Just pressure. “You really scared us!”

“Shiro.” He picks his head up slowly, the move somehow really difficult. His head feels like it's filled with cotton, too heavy and thick for him to really process much. Allura’s balanced voice is like a beacon, an anchor for him to hold on to. When he meets her eyes, she’s frowning but those bright blue eyes are smiling. “It’s good to see you up again.”

He chuckles and even to him it sounds tired, not like his normal one at all. Hunk’s hand squeezes his hipbone from where his arm is wrapped around him, carrying his weight.

“Good to be back.” He smiles but then it falls into a frown. “What happened?”

“Haggar.” Allura says, her face set into something hard. A cool kind of anger that reminds him of Keith’s own heat in the training rooms. “She almost sapped all of your quintessence, during the battle. Black held you on for as long as she could.”

_Black_. “I-I remember stars. They were so bright. The sky it-”

He trails off and Allura picks up for him. “The astral plane. You were within her consciousness, Shiro. You died.”

“But-?”

“Keith saved your life, dude.” Hunk says suddenly, his voice too loud against Shiro’s ear but his tone is serious, almost reverent, The respect there is obvious and Shiro tries to turn his head towards him. “I don’t really understand how but he did.”

“Keith?” It’s not a surprising thought. Not really. But still, something is off about this.

“Keith has a connection to quintessence.” A different voice speaks up and this time, the whole room turns. There, standing in the doorway by Coran, is Kolivan. He looks just as serious as always but Shiro notes the way his frown is set even more into his face. His braid, likewise, is behind him instead of over his shoulder. Kolivan steps further into the room, closer into their circle, and Coran follows wordlessly.

“He’s been tracking it. And the druids.” Shiro remembers and Kolivan doesn’t nod but the words ring true.

“Yes.” He finally says after a long moment of silence, which had made all of them shift. “Keith has a unique ability, a sensitivity to it that allows him to feel it more strongly than most.”

“It’s not unlike altean alchemy!” Coran interrupts, sounding a bit excited.

Kolivan pushes on, as if no one had spoken. “Sometimes, this sensitivity allows him to use it.” And here the room’s air is even tenser. Shiro cuts a quick glance over to Allura, who is still looking stern, and sure enough, the expected understanding is in her eyes. Coran’s words ring even louder. Alchemy. Keith has alchemic abilities, if only just.

Suddenly, his mission against the druids makes a bit more sense.

“Keith felt your lifeforce when it slipped away. He’s had plenty of practice recognizing the feeling so he was able to catch it quickly.”

Shiro thinks of Ulaz and now Thace. The Blade of Marmora, full of their risks and dangers and too high stakes, is no stranger to loss. Keith’s knowledge and familiarity of it saved Shiro’s life but he wishes, still, that it hadn’t been needed. That Keith hadn’t had the knowledge of knowing how. It aches to think about.

“With Keith’s help, I was able to channel your quintessence back into your body.” Allura says. She is much quieter now and he frowns, looking over at her. She’s looking down at her feet with a troubled face, like she’s only one wrong move away from crying or screaming. “Shiro, you-”

“Your body was almost entirely gone.” Lance interrupts and Shiro’s breath hitches. “If Keith hadn’t noticed, Haggar would have completely destroyed it.”

“You would’ve been stuck in the Black lions consciousness.” Pidge whispers sadly.

“And we wouldn’t have known,” says Hunk. “You just.. would’ve been gone. Just like that.”

_Just like that._

Shiro doesn’t know how to tell him that he’s been waiting almost his whole life for a moment like that, like this.

“And Keith?” He asks instead, throat tight. He looks around the room but the Blade isn’t anywhere to be seen. It’s just Team Voltron and Kolivan.

Kolivan is the one to answer him. “Resting.”

“I had to use him as a sort of battery to save you.” Allura informs him, looking a little guilty. “I haven’t been trained and my alchemic knowledge wasn’t enough. With Keith’s quintessence combined with mine, we were able to extract your consciousness and restore your body to a stable enough state to accept you again. You’ve been in the pod to heal that physical damage and to stabilize your quintessence.”

“It’s taken quite the beating,” Coran pipes up, more serious sounding than Shiro’s ever heard him. “You’re very lucky, Number One.”

Lucky. He doesn’t feel lucky.

“How is he?” He asks Kolivan and the older man stares him down.

He blinks. “Keith will recover soon. Mostly, he’s just tired. If more of his quintessence had been needed, however,” The Blade leader leaves the end of his sentence hanging but no one needs him to finish.

Keith could have died. Would have died. To save him. To save Shiro.

“I’ll be sure to thank him next time I see him.” He declares, staring back at Kolivan, who’s stiff posture makes all the more sense now.

So is Shiro, now that he knows.

Kolivan nods once sharply and turns on his heel, the flaps of his uniform swinging behind him. When he gets to the door however, he turns back to them.

“Oh, Black Paladin?” Shiro looks up weakly. “Be sure to stay out of trouble, for your and my kit's sake.”

Shiro swallows. “I’ll try my best.”

It’s not a hard promise to make.

Kolivan leaves wordlessly.

* * *

  
  


A smudge of ink lines Shiro’s jaw, a quick swipe of a mistake and distraction. Lance points it out as soon as he sees him.

“Shiro’s soulmate is a mess,” He snorts, throwing his body into a chair. Shiro rolls his eyes as he takes the seat next to the blue paladin. “You should tell them to be more careful.”  
  
Pidge snorts loudly at this, shooting a very judging look Lance’s way. To his credit, the boy ignores her.

“Can’t.” He says, reaching out to grab a hold of the closest dish. It’s breakfast time, which means pancakes, and he’s starving. The pancakes in question taste a little like grass and are green to match but the sort-of syrup Hunk has managed to make covers the weird aftertaste enough. He grabs three.

Lance guffaws. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Shiro can feel the weight of the other’s eyes on him, even Allura and Coran’s. The Alteans had found the concept of human soulmates and soulwritings beyond fascinating. Apparently, there was nothing like it up here. Shiro privately thinks other world’s are just more quiet about it. Human’s never do anything with silence.

“I’ve written to them,” He says, still looking down at his pancakes, carefully cutting them into separate, stacked pieces. The syrup is too far away. “But they’ve never written back.”  
  
“So they’re an asshole.” Lance says, frowning unhappily, eyes narrowed. Like the others, he hasn’t received his soulwritings yet. All of them are late bloomers in that sense and it’s almost ironic in its cruelty.

Shiro immediately bristles, ready to defend, and Hunk passes the syrup into his hand before he can open his mouth.

“Maybe they’re an alien?” Pidge suggests, looking up from her own breakfast for the first time. “It’s entirely possible.”

“We _are_ up here in space.” Hunk agrees, nodding at the rest of them.

“Maybe that’s why they haven’t responded? They can’t.” Pidge continues, sounding sure of herself, despite the fact no one can really prove anything. Yet.

“Do you think they even receive them?” Lance asks, voice curious and kinder than it had been just a moment ago. Shiro relaxes in his seat and begins to properly eat. He wishes there was orange juice. God how he misses it. “Or is Shiro just permanently left on “ _Read_ ”?”

Pidge rolls her eyes at him. “If they can see them, they’d have responded by now.”

“Maybe not!” Lance protests, rolling his own eyes back at her. “Maybe they’re just not the conversationalist type.”

Now Shiro wants to roll his eyes.

“They probably don’t have these soulwritings at all.” Allura says. “Human biology is so odd and the readings we’ve done on the connection is so unique. Without that biology, it’s very unlikely they have it themselves.”

“Be pretty cool if they did though,” Hunk pipes up, reaching forward to grab what looks suspiciously similar to bacon. “Imagine being in history class and suddenly you have an alien talking to you.”

Pidge cackles. “Iverson would have exploded.”

They all share a laugh at that and Shiro runs his hand over his jaw, over the ink smudge.

After, Hunk sets a hand over his wrist, squeezing it reassuringly. “You’ll meet them one day, Shiro.”

“Thanks Hunk.” He smiles back.

“Yeah!” Lance yells, grinning. “And we can all meet your weird, alien soulmate.”

Allura reaches over and smacks the back of his head.

“Ow!”

* * *

_2 >> Kol _

Shiro runs his gaze over the print on his forearm. His sleeve covers most of it but he remembers it and the ending _-ol_ can still be seen poking out past the cuff. He leans back a little more in his chair. Beside him, Lance covers a yawn.

At the front of the room, Allura is speaking to Kolivan and Antok about their upcoming plans. The Blades and Voltron have been doing a lot of humanitarian missions together lately, Allura eager to rebuild the Coalition to its greatness. Kolivan is nodding along with her, never looking away from her serious face, and Antok is subtly looking past her, probably daydreaming.

There’s not really any reason for them all to be here. Before, they had been discussing a past mission, one that had required the use of Voltron, but no one had actually been dismissed when it was over, and so they’re just all still sitting here. It would be awkward to leave now, not to mention quite rude and disruptive. Allura would notice immediately, which would draw Kolivan’s disappointing gaze onto them too.

So they stay.

Across from Lance, Keith sits. Like Kolivan, they’re staring up at Allura. Unlike Antok, they’re definitely listening. Keith is nodding along at all the right places and even has their datapad open, pulling up screens for Kolivan to look at so they can all keep planning properly.

They’d be a great leader one day, Shiro thinks. Kolivan looks back at Keith, asking them a question Shiro only manages to catch half of. Kolivan must see what Shiro sees, if the blatant trust and pride on his face is any indication. Keith answers back, sure and calm.

He outright stares as Keith talks about supply runs and how the Blade will manage to find the necessary amount of resources. The mask hides their face, hides everything about them really, but it's tight enough that he can see the sharp, pointed of Keith’s jawline. Keith also moves their hands as they talk, gesturing around themselves in a private, little controlled space. They’re animated and everything they say is saturated in certainty, like they know exactly what they’re talking about, and Shiro is smiling.

Lance nudges his side, making him look away with a quiet grunt. He looks at Lance through the corner of his eye and the boy is smirking knowingly. Shiro looks away before the blush on his cheeks can really settle, embarrassed at being caught, but as soon as he looks back up, he is met with Keith’s gaze.

The glowing eyes of the marmoran mask are blank and unblinking but Keith holds themself in a way that is angled in curiosity. They tilt their head slightly and Shiro blinks, giving a small, apologetic shrug. He’s not sure if Keith had caught him staring or if it’s just that they had caught him distracted by Lance, but the blush deepens on his face.

Keith looks away from him then, dropping their gaze to the datapad and discarded notebook. They pick the notebook up, fingers curling around the edges of it, and grab their pen to write something down.

Shiro looks down at his hands where they’re curled on the tabletop. He listens to Allura with one ear as he thinks about nothing and everything. The pretty colors of the marmoran base shine through the castleships windows, blue and purple and bright, so much unlike the insides. It casts a nice glow onto all of their faces.

He stares at his thumb where a small heart is being drawn. It’s very faded, the lines spotty, as if it was being drawn over something else first and just happens to bleed through. Paper maybe. As Allura talks about food packages to the planet three systems away, the space of the heart is carefully filled in. It beats silently against his skin and he smiles as he tucks his thumb under the other one, covering it up. It’s just for him.

He looks back up and catches Keith’s eye. 

His smile doesn’t waver and Keith dips his head in what could be an acknowledgement. 

* * *

“How did you end up with the Blades anyway?” He asks Keith one day after they’ve trained together. Shiro’s muscles ache in the best ways, sweat clinging to his skin through his clothes, and his face is hot, breathing rough. Across from him on the floor sits Keith, stretching their limbs back out.

Shiro knows little about the Blade of Marmora and their origins are even more hazy. He remembers Ulaz talking about Zarkon’s reign, how in the early days, they had all fought for him, but along the way had realized the truth. But that must have been ages ago and Kolivan can’t possibly be that old can he? The likelihood of Keith being born on the Marmoran base has to be slim.

“Well, my mother’s galran and when my father died-”

“Wait.” Shiro waves both his hands, shushing Keith. “I thought Kolivan was your dad?”

Keith laughs at him, the sound rich and bouncing off the walls back at them. It’s loud and careless and he likes it immediately, even when it’s directed at him. Especially when it's with him. “No, Shiro. Kolivan is not my father.”

“What?” Honestly, he really doesn’t get it. He had always assumed Kolivan was Keith’s galran parent, their short stature a mark of not being fully galran, but he’s apparently wrong. Which makes no sense because of literally everything he _does_ know. “But he-! And you!”

Keith just laughs again. “My mother is a Blade. She’s off on a mission, has been for several decaphoebs now,” And oh, doesn’t that explain some things? “Kolivan has been my primary caregiver in her absence though, yes.”

“So he’s like your adopted dad.” Shiro deadpans, giving Keith a pointed look.

The Blade snorts at him and shakes their head, turning away, but no argument is spoken so Shiro counts it as a win. He knows he’s right anyway, no matter what Keith might try and say.

“As I was saying,” Keith continues, shooting another look at him. Shiro just pouts, turning his nose up. “My mother is a Blade, has been for a long time. I think her and Kolivan were recruited around the same time. When I was born, she entrusted me to the Blade as well.” They shrug helplessly. “The Blade is my family.”

Shiro thinks of Matt and Sam. Matt who had been his friend, who hadn’t treated him like this proverbial golden boy at the Garrison. Matt, who had shoved him into pools and had dunked him under the water (or tried to anyway). Matt, who had stolen his chips and watched shitty movies with him, complaining loudly into his ear at god knows what o’clock. Sam, who had stood up for him against Sanda. Sam, who had taken Shiro under his wing as soon as he had gotten there, reminding him that he could do anything. Sam, who had encouraged him to apply for that first mission, who had flown with him on his first trip to Jupiter, who had been on his last to Kerberos.

He thinks of Voltron. Of Katie, of Pidge, who hugs him after every battle they’re in with a strong grip, like she can’t believe they’re really here still. Of Lance who stutters when he asks to spar, who finds him in the lounge, lost in memories, and tells him the inane gossip he learned from the mice. Of Hunk, who forces him away from the bots when it’s dinner time and likes to look at his arm for him when Shiro’s pained, annoyed frown is too obvious. Of Allura, who sits down beside him, hours after the others have gone to bed, and speaks of Altea, of her father and the pressure she feels to live in his name as the red paladin. Of Coran, who works tirelessly to accommodate their human biology to give Shiro pain meds and sleep pills and always knows how to make him laugh when he really needs it, a distraction and a comfort.

“I understand,” He whispers to Keith and Keith looks back.

“I know.”

* * *

  
  


He is breathing hard, body leaning forward into Black’s controls. He feels so heavy, so tired, and the memories of their battle flash behind closed eyelids.

It has been a long day, full of too much adrenaline and screaming, and his head rattles with the noise of it. He tightens his hold on the controls, teeth grinding down harder, and Black purrs against his thoughts.

_Everyone is okay._

There hadn’t been any real danger, not anything more than usual anyway. But sometimes Shiro is reminded of the fact that any battle could be their last. Could be his last. He takes another shuddering breath, drawing in the taste of ozone and lightning.

Shiro looks back at the sound of footsteps approaching the cockpit, face lighting up when he catches sight of a familiar Blade uniform. It’s a surprise, because the galran has never visited him in here and has no reason to now, and yet here they are.

Perhaps he’s been in here too long. Black rubs along his thoughts, fleeting and hot. She had let them in.

He grins. “Keith- _oh_!”

Keith’s mask has been retracted, the hood fallen back and their face freely exposed. What he sees.. Isn’t what he had expected.

They have the familiar shade of purple galra skin, though several, several shades lighter. It’s almost lilac. Bolder, darker purple lines both sides of their cheeks in points. The paired markings stretch from half their face, down past their jaw, ending on the sides of their neck in a smooth blend of gradual purples. White hair frames their face and neck, falling around their thin shoulders. Pink strands mix easily, like highlights but not. Perfect white strands fall into their face in wispy bangs, light pink kissing some of the ends like an afterthought of a dream.

They have human eyes though, human proportions. Their sclera is a light gold, not at all like the glowing, bright yellow of most galra, with large, dark blue-violet irises looking back.

“You’re human,” Shiro gapes stupidly, mouth open and eyes too wide for polite company. He had known already, of course, that Keith was only partially galra but this is….

Keith shakes their head, waves bouncing gently. “Half human.” They correct him. 

“But-?” Shiro waves his hands, clutching at the air between them. Keith’s ears twitch and Shiro follows the movement, following the small pointed arch of them. They’re somewhere between his own ears and the Alteans and it’s oddly enduring. Suddenly, he understands Allura a lot more. “How?”  
  
Keith raises a brow and smirks, baring tiny fangs. “Well, Shiro, when two people-”

“No!” He interrupts, face too hot and red and Keith’s smirk stretches. “You know what I mean Keith!”

They laugh, the sound free and unrestrained by the mask, and Shiro’s heart skips a beat. Keith waves a hand, gesturing for Shiro to follow, and he does. Keith takes them out of Black, white hair bouncing with their steps, but instead of furthering into the castle, to Shiro’s room or to the lounge, Keith just sits at the base of the lion, by her feet. Shiro looks up, towards Black’s face that hovers above them peacefully. He feels a prod against his mind and knows it’s her, reassuring and firm but gentle.

He sits down by Keith, their thighs accidentally touching because he sits too close. Keith doesn’t say or move though and Shiro knows it would be even more awkward for him to move so he stays where he is against them.

“You know already my mother is a marmoran.” Keith starts, eyes looking out over the hangar. Red and Blue are closest and he can hear Lance, Pidge, and Hunk laughing loudly as they walk into the castle. Allura isn’t to be seen and so Shiro assumes she’s already inside, likely heading to her room to change and shower.

“One of her earlier stations brought her to Earth. The Empire had managed to gather energy readings off of the Red lion and were trying to track the others down.” Shiro stills and looks back over to the Blade at his side. Keith turns back to him and smiles softly. “They found earth and my mother failed to talk them out of approaching, so she attacked and destroyed their cruisers. Her ship was damaged in the battle and she crashed to earth, where my father found her.”

Keith’s voice and face impossibly gets even softer here, all the stress lines Shiro hadn’t even noticed relaxing out of them. “Pa saved her life. He helped heal her, tending to her wounds and feeding her, housing her away.”

“He didn’t turn her in? Or tell anyone?” As terrible as it may sound, Shiro knows humans. For one of them to find an alien and _not_ say something? It’s almost unbelievable.

“Mom thinks he didn’t trust the Garrison, that he somehow knew her mission was greater than anything else.” A smart man, Shiro thinks, fisting his metal hand tight. They would probably have killed her, either on accident or on purpose he doesn’t know.

“They grew close. Together, they managed to locate the lion and my mom decided to remain on earth, protecting it. She’s never said but I think they had already fallen in love by that point. She didn’t want to leave him. To lose him.” Keith looks at Shiro, still smiling too fondly.

Shiro looks back. “She was very brave.”  
  
“She is.” Keith agrees. “I was born not long after she decided to stay.”

They look down at their hands, which rest so close to Shiro’s own on a dark clad thigh. The heat of Keith’s body is firm and nice against his own and Shiro doesn’t want him to move.

“I was a sickly child when I was born.” Keith tells him, eyes bright and wary. “Many part galra children are. Our genetics are unstable and our biology even more so. It causes interesting effects. Stillbirths are common and if the child manages to survive, sometimes they don’t make it very far.”

Keith says this all very clinically, like they’re reading out of a textbook, as if this isn’t the start of their life. As if it has nothing to do with them at all. Shiro’s chest hurts.

“Galra genes are strong. And if the other parents' genetics aren’t strong themselves, can’t handle the pressure, they can be consumed and destroyed. It’s not uncommon, either, for the bearer parent to parish in pregnancy and childbirth.”

They run a hand through the mixed colors of their hair, white and pink splitting evenly between clawed fingers. “When the Empire found Earth again, my mother and father fought them off. They managed to kill them all, protecting the Blue Lion, but my father died in the process.” Keith looks down at their hands. “My mother knew we would be safer back in space. She needed to return to the Blade, to protect Earth and the Blue Lion, and I was still too sick. Without my father, she knew I would perish, so she brought me with her, back to the Blade.”

“You would have stayed on Earth?” Shiro asks, surprised. Keith looks quite obviously inhuman. Their presence would have been discovered quickly, no matter how careful their father might have been. Keith, as if hearing these thoughts, smirks.

“I wasn’t born looking like this, Shiro.” Keith tells him, gesturing to their face and figure. “I looked quite human actually. My skin was like yours, my hair dark and black.” They wave a hand between them. “My claws were blunt, though I always had them. They’re retractable.” Keith follows those words up with action, retracting the claws back into himself and the blunt, flat edges of human nails look up at him. He gapes.

“Prince Lotor has a similar attribute, I’ve heard.” Keith says, as if Zarkon having a son is everyday knowledge for Shiro. It probably should be, he realizes sheepishly. “Anyway. When my mother brought me to the Blade, I was treated with quintessence. It allowed my galran genes to overtake my human ones almost entirely. I survived and got healthier, quickly, but my features changed as a result.”  
  
“The hair,” Shiro leans back “It’s from quintessence exposure.”

His own white bangs feel heavy against his forehead, like a brand. Keith nods.

“Yes. The pink is from my mother though.” They smile and Shiro returns it easily. “As are my cheek markings. I have my fathers eyes though.”

And Shiro looks into those same eyes, the dark blues of them swimming together into a deep purple. If asked, he’s not sure what color he’d call them. They hold the weight of stars within them, multitudes of galaxies, and Shiro isn’t at all surprised that Keith’s father fell in love with a woman from the stars.

He had already been carrying them.

Shiro wants to ask about him, about this nameless human man he already feels so similar to, but Keith carries grief in their shoulders, much like Allura, and he thinks now isn’t the time. One day though. One day maybe he will.

* * *

  
  


“Pidge is named Katie.” Keith tells him one day.

They’re sitting at a work table, this time in the Blade’s base. Keith is frowning at him, their ears twitching minutely. They’re sitting on the tabletop, Shiro in the chair closest to their crossed legs. If he wanted to, he could rest a hand on their knee.

Shiro nods agreeably and grins a little, slightly confused. “She is.”

“Pidge is a nickname.” Keith says, still frowning.

He nods again. “Yes. Her parents named her Katie but Matt, her brother, calls her Pidge. And she prefers to go by Pidge now.”

“Pidge is a nickname,” Keith repeats. “Just like Shiro is.”

Ah. He sees. “Kinda yeah. Shiro is a shortened version of my name actually.”

Keith’s frown just deepens. “What is your name then?”

Shiro laughs lightly and taps his pen down. “Takashi Shirogane.”

“Takashi Shirogane.” Keith repeats, mouthing the syllables slowly. “ _Takashi Shirogane_.”

His tapping stutters and he nods a little dumbly up at them.

“Shirogane.” Keith says again. “Shiro.”

He swallows. “Exactly. Yes. Uh-huh.”  
  
Keith narrows blue and yellow eyes at him. “How do you spell it?” They ask, saying the words like their punches and Keith is in a fight they’re determined to win.

Shiro laughs, despite the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “Depends. I can write it in english and japanese.”

Thankfully, the paladins have already explained earth and their complicated system of many, many languages to the Blade so Shiro doesn’t have to here. Keith thrusts a stray pen at him, quickly followed by a sticky note. It’s a bright shock of orange today.

“Show me.”

He laughs again but grabs the items easily enough. Carefully, he writes his name down and then does it again.

He points at the first section of symbols. “This is my name in kanji, in japanese.” He points at the next set. “This is it in english.”

Keith frowns and hums. “Humans are complicated. The japanese makes more sense.”

Shiro laughs again, delighted. “I agree.” Keith really is like a fresh breath of air. Or a splash of water. They’re refreshing and Shiro wants to hug them.

“How do you write my name then?”

Shiro smiles softly and writes Keith’s name down onto the sticky note. He likes the way their names look together. He looks back up at the half galran.

Keith peers over his paper, squinting down at Shiro’s handwriting.

“My name isn’t spelt like that.” They declare, looking back up at him in what should probably be disappointment, if not for the way Keith’s lips twitch in amusement.

Shiro laughs. “Okay then. How do you spell it?”

Keith reaches over, snagging up one of the many stray pens, and grabs at Shiro’s hands, who is too baffled and enamored to stop them. Keith turns his hand over, displaying the bruised and dry knuckles, and uncaps their pen with their teeth, spitting it back out towards the tabletop.

It shouldn’t be attractive. But it is. God help him and his poor, tortured, horny soul.

As is how Shiro’s hands are so much bigger than Keith’s own, markedly so. It’s funny almost, considering Keith’s the one with the genetics are extremely tall and burly aliens in their system. Shiro thinks he likes it this way better though.

Keith shakes the pen like they’re trying to get all the ink out at once and then presses the thin tip to Shiro’s skin. They draw a line downward and then across and then Keith bends their head over him in a way that Shiro can’t see what they’re doing anymore.

Their tongue sticks out from between chapped lips, tiny and pink and way too cute. Keith looks like a kitten blepping, eyebrows furrowing in deep concentration as they write out, presumably, their name onto the back of Shiro’s hand.

“There!” They grin crookedly, looking back up and releasing Shiro’s hand slowly. “Now you won’t forget it.” The grin morphs into a self-satisfied smirk.

Shiro looks down, chuckling at his hand as he curls it towards him. Sure enough, galran characters flash back up at him, the lines angular and sharp, much like their founders. The ink is a dark purple and stains his skin boldly, loudly.

Something about it is familiar.

“This is Keith in galran?” He asks, still staring down at the name.

Keith shrugs and makes a so-so motion with their hand. “Igh. It’s close enough to it, yeah.”

The letters are neat and Shiro turns back to his paper, where he’s written Keith’s name down in the terran, english alphabet. He picks up the pen and taps the paper, handing the object over.

“Might want to write this down next to it then. I’m old. I’ll definitely forget otherwise.”

Keith snorts but grabs the pen anyway, sliding back into Shiro’s space like it’s nothing. They reach for his hand and with a quick, practiced flourish write out “ _Keith_ ” underneath the galran.

“There. Happy?”

Shiro stares down at the letters, both sets of them, still in that familiar shade of purple and suddenly it clicks. He’s seen this before. This handwriting. On his skin.

Keith is-

He grins and looks back up.

“Yes. I am.”

* * *

  
  


In hindsight, telling Keith should be easier than it is.

They’re half human and every other aspect of human culture has been eagerly ravished and consumed. Keith loves to learn about their father’s people, loves to practice writing english with a patient Hunk and likes to learn video games from Pidge with Regris. 

Keith even does face masks with Lance and Allura now, even if there is a constant stream of teasing from the group when they’re all together. There’s too much “Red Paladin” energy between the three of them and Shiro has found them in decidedly unsafe positions more than he likes to admit.

Still. Keith likes learning about Earth, about humans, and this should be along that vein but it isn’t.

Shiro wonders if Keith’s dad had soulwritings. If it was in Krolia’s hand or not. If he had to explain that to her too.

Thinking about Keith’s parents leads him to thinking about Kolivan though and his nervousness skyrockets. Because Shiro has never met anyone more protective of their kid, their kit, than the Blade of Marmora leader.

Ever since the fight with Zarkon, Kolivan has eyed Shiro with hard eyes. There’s far too much knowledge there, the look knowing and sure and fierce. Every time Shiro walks up to Keith when the Blade’s board the castleship or when he arrives at the Blades base at all, those eyes are on him.

Kolivan knows. He _knows_.

He watches the way they are together, Keith and Kolivan. Shiro sees that protective hand on Keith’s back, the way it gently guides the younger half galra through the halls and rooms. Sees the way Kolivan runs his knuckles over Keith’s hair, over their forehead, a gentle ruffle of skin and claw. Kolivan always asks Keith for their opinion, always listens when it’s given, and he’s one of, if not the first, to defend them if anyone (ahem, Lance) speaks out against them.

Kolivan is who trains with Keith the most. Shiro knows because almost every time he goes to the Blade’s main base, he finds them in the training rooms. Keith throws themself into the fights, hissing out snarls and growls and bearing their teeth up at Kolivan, who is so much larger and taller and just bigger. But every time Kolivan counters them, swinging his body in all the right directions, angling Keith’s into the proper moves for a rebuff and redirect, he’s gentle. Caring and careful. Sure not to hurt Keith in any way at all, without being wholly too easy on them.

Kolivan makes sure Keith eats. Shiro can’t count the number of times he’s been in the lounge or workshops with Keith, working and chatting away, only for the galran to walk in with a plate of snacks and stern “Eat.”

He’s even seen the man bundle Keith up in a blanket, nuzzle their face, and lick them right across the top of their head. Neither had acted weird about it so Shiro knows it’s a common action between them, a practiced one.

Shiro knows, in the end, that if anything happens between him and Keith, he’s going to needs Kolivan’s approval. His acceptance, at the very least.

And like the man himself knows, every time Shiro approaches Keith, he’s met with a yellow, withering stare. Telling Keith, convincing him, is going to prove to be a task, he just knows it.

He _has_ to be sure about this. He needs proof. If only so Kolivan doesn’t straight up murder him when he learns the truth.

* * *

  
  


They’re in the lounge again, Keith working away on reports Shiro hasn’t yet asked about. He’s got his datapad in his hand, a game similar to sudoku on it’s screen.

He doesn’t know the rules though so it’s harder for him than it probably actually is. Hence, he’s frustrated and bored.

Shiro looks over and down at Keith’s papers, sees the familiar handwriting staring back up at him. Keith continues to write away, scribbling furiously into their notebook, scowling down at it with their tongue poking out.

He snatches up the paper, staring at it widely, and shakes it in the air, elation rising.

“Did you write this?”  
  
Keith arches a brow and scowls lightly at him. “Obviously? They’re my notes, Shiro. Who else would have written them?”

“So this is definitely your handwriting?” He asks and Keith huffs, looking annoyed and exasperated.

“ _Yes_ , Shiro.” They roll their eyes so hard Shiro is concerned for their health. “Why are you even asking?”

He fiddles with the paper, sets it back down in a move that is way too casual. “No reason.”

* * *

  
  


“The Blades have reported a spike in activity in the belmoyn system,” Allura starts and a picture appears on all of their datapads. Shiro looks down at it, seeing familiar galran characters. Altean has been overwritten in the margins of the scanned pages, english translating alongside it in PIdge’s familiar script.

He leans over suddenly into Keith’s space, who sits beside him in a rare move.

“Hey,” He whispers lowly, so as not to interrupt. Keith looks back. “Did you write these?”

Keith gives him a strange look but nods.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just looking at the handwriting.” Shiro answers honestly and Keith frowns at him, turning a little in their seat.

“What?” They frown, a strange look still lingering in their eyes. “Is it that bad?”

“Huh?”  
  
Keith scowls, jabbing at Shiro’s side with a sharp finger. “My handwriting!” They hiss. “Is it really that bad?”

Shiro looks down at his screen, at Keith’s report.

“I didn’t think it was that messy,” The Blade whispers lowly, looking down at it, and Shiro’s gut twists guilty. He hadn’t meant to make Keith self conscious! About his handwriting of all things too. As if it isn’t Shiro’s second favorite thing to see in the whole universe.

(Keith, of course, being the first.)

“It’s not!” He whispers back sharply and Keith looks back at him, an uneasy frown on his lips now. “Really it’s just-!”  
  
“Shiro!” Hunk suddenly hisses, interrupting him. A foot connects with Shiro’s shin under the table and he looks up and over at Pidge, who is scowling slightly.

He refocuses on the meeting, blush rising. Keith ignores him in turn, the two of them silent once more.

* * *

  
  


He hands Keith a marker. “Can you write this down for me?”  
  
Keith frowns at it, fingers curling around the marker anyway. “I don’t have any paper?”

Shiro waves a hand and pointedly doesn’t meet Keith’s eyes. “Just use your hand.”

Keith’s frown deepens but he does as requested anyway.

Shiro looks down at his own hand, where the requested words are neatly printed, if a bit sharper than usual, and grins.

* * *

  
  


In the end, he doesn’t have to do much at all.

“I don’t understand Pidge and Lance at all.” Keith frowns over at him. They’ve abandoned their work, which spreads across the worn, familiar table behind them. Sheets and scans of stuff he barely understands cover the whole top. “I didn’t even know they liked each other like that.”

Shiro snorts, perhaps rudely. “They don’t. Not yet anyway. Maybe never.”

Keith scowls at him, completely unsatisfied with that answer, and Shiro laughs in the back of his throat.

“Humans have soulmates.” He tells him, fiddling with the cube in his hand. “Usually, you meet your soulmate when you’re like 13. Pidge is 15 but she got her first mark the other day and well. It was from Lance.”

“They’re soulmates?” Keith grunts.

He nods. “They’ll grow into it but yeah. They’re soulmates. So they’re spending more time together, figuring things out.”

Keith huffs, blowing their bangs out of their face, and scowls even heavier. “I don’t understand this at all.”

Shiro’s brain stutters. He’s been waiting, trying to find the best time to explain, to tell Keith. Kolivan has made it hard, Shiro’s nerves making it even harder. But Keith is asking, knows about it now, and Shiro feels the weight of it even more than usual. His heart tightens, pulse skipping. Is this-?

“Humans have soulmates,” He repeats, starting carefully, slowly. Keith leans further against the work table, watching him. “ Like I said, you get your first mark around 14 and it’s from them. Anything written on your soulmates skin, gets written onto your own. A mirror of each other. We call it soulwritings. And it only happens with your soulmate.”

“Anything?” Keith asks, brows raised.

Shiro chuckles lightly. “Anything. And it doesn’t have to be written by your soulmate either. If your friend drew a square on you, it would still appear on your soulmate.”

“How does it know?” Keith frowns, mouth pursing into a tiny pout. “Does everyone have one?”

“Yes.” Shiro nods, taking a step closer to them. “Everyone has one. Sometimes they’re romantic, other times platonic, but every human has one.”

Keith looks down at that, frown deepening. “Even my dad? Even you?”

And oh isn’t that the opening he needs. He swallows, running his hand over himself. He laughs, high and nervous as Keith stares back at him.

“I’d say your dad definitely had one. And so do I.”

Keith looks away. “Oh.”

Shiro takes another step closer, swallowing again and again. _God_ this is so hard.

“Keith.” The Blade jerks, looking up with wide eyes. “Keith it’s you.”  
  
He can see Keith’s throat move with how hard they swallow. “What’s me?”

“My soulmate,” Shiro says quietly, carefully. He takes another step and sees Keith stiffen. “I didn’t know for awhile. But your handwriting…. It’s the same. And I saw it. So your hand, saw it on my own. Keith,”

Keith shakes their head, eyes even wider now.

“Keith you’re my soulmate.”

“No,” They hiss, still looking around wildly. “No, you.. You’re just messing with me. Teasing me. This isn’t-!”

“ _Keith_. No, really,” He takes another step, sees Keith’s grip tighten on the table. “Really.” He stresses.

Keith just shakes their head, white and pink hair bouncing rapidly with the force of it.

They’re close now and Shiro tries to smile, to do something that’ll calm them.

“Keith.” They don’t look at him. “Keith please.”

They look up. He smiles.

“I promise I’m not lying to you. I would never. I’m being serious.” He rests his hand down onto the table, scanning it.

Keith swallows again, bites their lip harshly, and peers up at him through their bangs.

“Please. Look.” He grabs a marker, the color a bright, bright red. “Watch.”

Keith shifts uneasily on their feet, looking around the room, but nods at him. They take a step closer to see.

Slowly, Shiro reaches out, wanting to give Keith time to refuse, but the marmoranite allows him to grab ahold of his hand. He pulls the glove off, revealing lilac skin and thin knicks of white scars. Likely from training and messing with their own knife.

Keith’s eyes don’t leave him as Shiro lifts his own hand, showing Keith the front and back of it so he can see the unmarked skin. It’s pale and clean and perfectly blank, as it usually is. He’s noticed Keith prefers more easily hidden places, like their soulwritings are secrets and private.

But this time Shiro wants everyone to see. Wants _Keith_ to see.

With slightly shaking fingers, Shiro returns his attention to Keith’s hand. He knows this is going to work, knows the truth already and is more than sure of it, but there’s the ridiculous fear that it isn’t going to work, that he’s going to look like a fool, that Keith isn’t _really_ his soulmate.

It’s stupid but it’s there.

_Hi_ he writes in big, blocky red letters all across the back of Keith’s hand. He remembers writing it that first time, all those years ago, in the dark shadows of his room. He hadn’t received an answer then but he hopes now is different. Hopes that this time, Keith will see.

He swallows and looks back up through his lashes. Keith is looking down at their hands, where Shiro’s are cupping both sides of their own smaller hand. Keith’s face is failing in being impassive, with a little pinch between their eyebrows.

Shiro draws his hand out from under Keith’s, where he had been holding their wrist still, and brings it up to hover over Keith’s hand, which is still cradled in his other hand. They share a long, quiet look and then Keith nods.

He turns his hand over.

There on the back of his hand, over bone and knuckle, is a bold red _Hi_.

Keith’s breath hitches audibly and Shiro swallows hard again.

It’s hard not to look up, to see Keith’s face and his reaction. He’s afraid of what he’ll see, afraid Keith won’t want this, want him. He knows soulwritings aren’t always romantic, knows that even when they are it’s not always returned. Sometimes soulmates don’t work out, don’t even start, but he wants this desperately. He has for a long time.

His fingers tighten around Keith’s wrist, squeezing it once before he drops his hands altogether.

Keith reaches out and grabs his hand. Their hi’s are pressed together. Fingers pull the hand back up, pull Shiro back to looking at them.

Keith’s eyes are glossy, wide and open. Their lips are parted a little on a startled breath and Shiro mirrors the look as Keith lifts their joint hands. They peer down at the red marker, at Shiro’s messy handwriting, and Keith locks eyes with Shiro as they slowly lift their hands up to their face.

They press a kiss onto the back of Shiro’s hand, right over his own _Hi_.

“This is almost a relief.” Keith confesses lowly, quietly. It feels like a confession and Shiro turns even more into them, taking a step forward so the only thing between them are their joined hands, oresseed between their chests. “I didn’t-”

“I’ve liked you for a long time.” Shiro confesses. “Probably from the moment I met you.”

Keith’s eyes flick down to the greeting on their hands and back up. A smile pokes at their face, soft and lovely.

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long.” They whisper, chin tilting.

He draws in a breath. “Long?” Shiro grins boyishly. “I needed to get here first.”

Keith’s smile deepens. “Earth is pretty far away.” They agree.

“But I’m here now?” Shiro wagers, drawing a little closer. He can smell Keith’s cologne, a woodsy scent of something he’s never known before.

“Yes.” Keith breathes in his air. “You are. And so am I.”

Shiro bends down. “And so you are.”

Their first kiss is a hello. He can feel Keith’s smile against his own and for the first time, Shiro’s soul gets an answer.

He has never felt warmer.

* * *

  
  
  


_ETA 5_

Shiro grins down at his hand, at the familiar writing of Keith, and turns back to Allura, who is already smiling at him with knowing eyes.

“Go.” She says and he grins even more, waving at her as he steps off and away.

He rounds the corner, waves quickly at a passing Iverson, walks briskly past a room where Pidge and Lance are loudly arguing over something he doesn’t stop to see.

He makes it to the hangar just in time to see Keith’s ship land, the sleek design of the Blade’s fighter ship matching the pilot perfectly. The wings are sharp and in pristine condition. A perfect flight then. Good.

Keith steps out of the ship quickly enough, their mask already down, exposing their markings and eyes. Keith looks up, immediately finding Shiro, and a grin plasters across their face, nose twitching as they run towards him.

Shiro catches them easily enough, hand coming up to push the hood of their uniform back so he can bury a hand into their hair. His other wraps around their trim waist, lifting them up into the air so Shiro can capture their mouth in a blazing kiss.

Keith’s hands cup the side of Shiro’s face, eager and happy, and kisses him back just as hard. The smell of fire clings to their skin, hot and thick, and Shiro’s grip tightens on their waist, his mouth forming a smile against wind chapped lips.

Keith pulls back and grins down at him still.

“Hi baby,” They greet, their voice impossibly soft and loving and god, Shiro never wants to let go of them. He presses a kiss along the underside of their chin.

“Hi,” He breathes against their skin, pulling back so he can look up at them.

Keith looks so beautiful, even post mission. Their hair is all windswept and messy, the braid almost entirely undone, stray strands framing their face in messy waves and curls. They’ve got a smudge of dirt behind their ear, a cut along the hairline, and there’s dark circles under their eyes. They never sleep well when they’re separated and Shiro knows he’s got a matching set of them.

Their Blade uniform, tight and with the now familiar wrappings of the Leader, clings to them.

“I missed you.” He tells them and Keith laughs, the sound joyous. Their legs wrap around Shiro’s waist, securing their place there in his arms. He doesn’t mind.

“You always miss you.” Keith says, still smiling so gently. Shiro nods, not wanting to look away.

“It’s true,” He squeezes Keith’s waist, feels the press of their hipbone against his palm through the cloth. “I do.”

Keith laughs again, just as lightly, “You’re impossible.”

They bend back down to kiss him again, this one just as sensual but much slower and longer.

He never wants to lose this, not even for a moment, and if Keith has any say, he knows he never will.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, in order Keith's first soul writings were the celestial coordinates of Pluto and an alternative name of Kerberos. The 2>>Kol is meant to refer to training with Kolivan in two days lol.
> 
> This fic was very fun to write and I hope you loved it as much as I do!


End file.
